The Watchman III: The City of Blinding Lights
by Someone072
Summary: Days after Watchman II: Gar's resignation from the League and defeat at the hands of the Desade Gang sends the Watchman reeling. Leaving Jump City and the others behind, Gar finds his way to the East Coast. Will he become a monster or learn to be a man?
1. 01: The City of Blinding Lights

A/N: And here we go again! Part three of this mammoth series continues, this time Gar's getting himself into trouble that not even this Irishman could expect... But perhaps another Irishman can help with that?

**The Watchman III: The City of Blinding Lights****  
**

---

_"And you're sure about this?"_

Clack-clack, clack-clack, the steel heartbeat of a metal snake, careening down the wood-enforced vein towards destination unknown...

_"Yes."_

Each impact of iron wheel on steel beam like a nail driving into the boxwood of a wild west coffin...

_"So you're running away then."_

Flash of sunlight through passing trees bounces effortlessly off emerald-colored glass...

_"That implies I'm giving up. I'm not."_

Class ring fitted tight on the ring finger of a man with fair, white skin. Hands are weathered with age but the green jewel inside shines radiantly...

_"You're full of shit! You say you aren't running but you're leaving Jump City for that place? They're going to run this place once you leave!"_

Black leather coat, ominous and showing the beginnings of fraying ends. No light reflects off the fabric, just like a black hole...

_"If I stay here they'll still run it. I can't stop them in this condition."_

Though the light entering the steel snake is faint and fading into orange, it still has enough energy to bring life to long locks of blonde hair...

_"Condition? What's wrong with you that you can't stop them?"_

At this point in the memory, the green glasses are pulled off. Staring at the front with deep recesses of cold, hauntingly forest eyes, the memory continues.  
_"I'm not strong enough to stop them. That's why I heading East."_

Looking out of his window, the forests and neighborhoods that had been his sight for days gives way to a new breed of both. Telephone poles replace the trees and homes replace the forests, their animals replaced with steel, four-wheeled beasts...

_"But why there? What can they do for you that this city can't?"_

Darkening, menacingly, the lips of the man pull back, revealing a pair of fangs just below the upper lip. Giant skyscrapers, zeppelins, and a red sky awaits him.

_"Any city in the world that can take a man and turn him into a monster, its Gotham."_

---

"Gotham Central Terminal!" The sound of the conductor's voice over the intercomm sounds exceptionally bored. Perhaps he's justified, its been a long ride out of Metropolis afterall. Of course, boredom is one of the few words that "Watchman" Garfield Logan would choose to describe this feeling. All around the train car are hundreds of souls, moving to and fro about the station, some entering the adjacent, steam-billowing trains or escaping the mass to their own devices. Grabbing the tall, shoulder-strapped travel bag around slinging it across his right-side back, Gar stands taller than the others in the compartment. The looks of children gazing in awe at his size, coupled with the cautious stares of parents, brings a wry smile to his face. Innocence and fear.. terrible combination. Its the wrong crowd to scare though.. that prey isn't found on this train.

Out into a rush of noise, steam, conversation, announcements, engines, departures, arrivals... Its all a bit much to take in for him. Unlike his previous visit, the arrival had been made by plane. At the very least, the airport gave some measure of adjustment to the new environment. No such luck here in Gotham Central. Stepping off the platform, Gar's nose becomes filled with the smell of pizza...New York pizza was so much better than Jump's! Pretzels from that vendor, nachos from that shop next to the coffee house.. If only there were time..

Picking up a map of the city from one of the information kiosks, Gar opens up the paper and comes to a somewhat depressing fact. The area in question isn't just far from here but the price to get him there via taxi would be most distressing indeed. Without the League paying for expenses anymore.. Agh! Forget them! Steeling his resolve, after a quick sigh that is, Gar resigns himself to his fate. How far of a walk could it be?

---

And Gar thought Jump City had a lot of cars... From the back seat of a taxi, one might not be able to comprehend the sheer size of Gotham City's motorists. This time around, however, Gar gets a full view from his place on the sidewalk, waiting to cross the street. For once, it seems Gar doesn't stand out in the middle of the crowd. His black coat and gruff exterior blend in well with the rest of the early 20th century style favored by the older residents of the city. Of course, some signs of progress appear to be filtering in as the occasional sight of low-cut jeans or baggy clothes are sighted. For now, however, Gar finds solace in being one with the older crowd. Blending in easier can save your life..

Then again though, a casual glance towards a local Starbucks or dining establishment could reveal the trends coming faster. Despite being on his own now for little more than a week, Gar himself finds those green eyes glancing towards several of the woman around the city. The West Coast might be known for good looking people but it would appear that Gotham might have something to say about that.

Especially when it comes to the size of the skyscrapers, casting Gar in nearly perpetual shade. Towering far above the sea level like the pillars of creation itself, they stand as iron watchtowers, servicing the citizens of the city and the county silently, painstakingly still. Gotham State Building especially looms in the distance, reminding Gar that no matter how tall he stands over those around him, he's still nothing but an ant to the steel behemoth. Enough time contemplating zen in the city, time to get a move.. the light has turned green and not even good intentions can stop a speeding car should he lag behind.

---

With the sun now far below the towering buildings, Gar finds himself cursing not just the city already but also himself. Damn the city for being so big... And damn himself for not realizing, until a block and a half away, that he could've just FLOWN here as a bird! Screw Batman and who else might be watching, it would've made this trip a hell of a lot easier! No time to bitch now though, a familiar sight isn't that far away. Kids run by, their parents yelling at them from the windows far above. Night isn't the best time for kids to be out but given the neighborhood, the criminal element might actually be the least-troubling thing to consider.

---

Mugs are slammed down with the ferocity of a blacksmith bringing his hammer down onto a glowing, super-heated piece of steel. Not as hot as steel, mind you, but the contents of the emptied mugs surely fill their drinkers with both warmth and humorous intentions. Each mug, while repeatedly emptied, seems to find itself being refilled within minutes, much to the delight of the residents of the establishment. A pint in the stomach is worth a loaf from the bakery or so the owner might say. Clanking along with the band, playing feverishly into the night with its chorus of violins, drums, and pipes, the glasses might as well be snares and cymbals to their percussion and beats..

Add another sound to the vacuum: the sound of a door swinging open and conversation coming to a stand-still.

For a brief moment, the bar falls silent at the sight of the beastly man standing in the doorway. Eyes hidden by glasses, coat flapping at his ankles, bag draped to his shoulder, he clearly doesn't look like the bar's many residents. Looks, however, can be misleading. To one man in particular behind the bar, this visitation might turn out to be a very entertaining sight.

"MACKEY!!!!!!"

The thunderous roar of the Mad Irishman's owner, nearly as full of energy as he is of whisky, comes running over to the entrance with arms wide open. Stopping Gar's avoiding motions in their tracks, Someone wraps him up in a tight bearhug, lifting him into the air. For a man nearly a seven inches shorter than Gar, he certainly hasn't lost a bit of strength in his body. Judging by the smell on Someone's shirt, it might be from the booze however.

"Ah missed ya y'wee bit'a madman ya! Wha t'ok ya so long, aye?!"

Gar pulls his face away from Someone's wide-mouthed one, the smell of potent whisky and cabbage doesn't make for a pleasant combination. How his wife puts up with it is a question best left to Q.

"What took me so long? I had to walk you damn Irish bastard!"

Letting go of the hug, Someone smacks Gar hard on the back, bringing a twitch to his friend's face. "Oi! Now t'ats not a'reason me t'be hearin' from ya, Gar'fiel! Ah, come'n from t'at draft bit'a air an' prop yerself up on'a stool!"

"Sounds like you've been on the stool too damn long, Someone! How long have you been drinking tonight?" Gar does, however, take the seat as requested. Countless blocks on the feet can be murder and the (forced) open stool next to Someone seems like a last-minute pardon.

"He's been at it since four o'clock." Another old sight announces, leaning on the bar before the two men.

"Four t'irty an' ye b'knowin why!" Someone warns, wagging his finger at Damon.

"Let me guess. He's throwing a party because he knew I was coming?" Gar asks, though smiling a bit at the sane compatriot of Someone's company.

Wiping a newly emptied mug clean, Damon admits "That and he got some good news. It seems that one of our customers is free for good behavior."

Eyes rolling behind green glass, Watchman glances at Someone and asks sarcastically "Gee, wouldn't happen to be someone I know, would it?"

Faking a hurt look, Someone lifts a full shotglass to Gar and asks innocently... well, for him... "Me? D'unah know w'at y'mean."

Replying with a look of suspicion, Gar eventually accepts the glass in hand. "Fine, I'll have fun with you tonight. Tomorrow though, business."

Snapping a two-finger salute to his brow, Someone replies back joyfully. "Aye! MACKEY! Git in'a on'tis! T'ree m'ackies in t'house, n'er b'moved again!"

Reluctantly, Damon fills up a shotglass for both Someone and himself. Looking at Gar, Damon offers a brave smile, knowing its only going to make Someone louder.

"Cheers?" Gar offers.

"Cheers." Damon replies.

"DOWN T'WINDPIPEY I'GO!" Someone shouts as the three pound their drinks, hard and fast.

---

(For the sake of understanding, the following conversation is written in understandable English)  
With the party finally getting revved up to full-gear, evidenced by the pub nearly bursting with all the people inside, the music and beer flows like a burst dam of water on the atmosphere. Guinness and whiskey, along with the roar of clapping, cheering, and hooting, brings the general strangeness up a few more notches. Just ask the owner and his invited guest sitting at the bar, bottles strewn across the wood.

"Look, I told you once, I'll tell you possibly a third time, there ain't anything wrong with killing people!"

Gar, shaking the effects of the whiskey off in his head, or so he tries, argues back. "I know, I know! But still, even though I want to kill these fuckers, something keeps holding me back!"

Swishing about a half-full bottle of beer, Someone suggests "Doubt its that lass you had with you. She looked ready to kill before you!"

Tipping his half-empty black glass of stout, Gar counters "Or the others I had to hang with these past three years!"

Taking a sip from his beer, Someone asks "Then why do you wanna do it? You're scary enough as is."

Finishing the rest of his own drink, Watchman replies "That's just it, I'm not scary enough it seems. Everytime I try and terrorize those....ugh, that didn't feel good... everytime I try and scare these fucks, they come back stronger... Need to shut them up for good."

Holding onto the bar for a second, ready to fall off the stool, Someone catches his balance before reminding Gar. "Kill one fucker, they send someone stronger after you the next time."

"Speaking from experience?"

Damon, a little bit red in the face himself but still coherent (and not needing the subtitles), informs Gar. "Don't let him fill your head with bullshit, Gar. We've all killed somebody on our way here but the way he says it you'd think he'd kill the pope himself."

"BLASPHEMY!"

"I'd keep the gun from your hand, honestly Gar. You don't want to live with that guilt on your soul."

Watchman finds his eyes gazing down for a moment as those words echo in his blurry mind. Guilt? Could he actually feel sorry if he kept the world from dealing with Desade again, or Baptist... or even Ripper?

"But maybe we could offer him something else, eh mackey?" Someone offers, looking at Damon. With a wry wink and a slick grin, he turns back to a questioning Gar. "You might not actually want to kill someone... but who says our kind can't make you into a juggernaut?"

"Wha?"

Damon shakes his head. "Someone, you get _them_ involved, they're going to kill us. Remember the last time you dealt with the freaks?"

"Yeah yeah, ol' Two-face nearly killed us, big deal!" If the slurring wasn't bad enough, even his brewery breath forces Gar to back away, waving his hand to clear the air.

"You guys trying to get me killed or something?" Gar asks, looking queasy at the smell of toxic Irish fumes.

"Yes and no." Damon answers. "The only way you could honestly get "stronger" out here is to learn from the experts. You say you aren't in the League anymore so that means you can start dealing with some of Gotham's... less than savory characters."

"I haven't seen ol' Riddly in a long while!" Someone points out, tapping the green bowler on his head, trying not to spill beer on it.

"Of course, some of them might still have a grudge against us.." Damon informs, glaring at the pretending-to-be-innocent Someone.

"I have absolutely NO idea what you're yappin' about, mackey."

Gar glares at the Irishman too. "Something tells me you tried pulling a fast one on a few of them, didn't you?"

"Scarecrow doesn't need guns.... at least good quality ones..." Someone mutters, trying not to be heard. Tell that to a guy with powerful hearing.

"You tried to rip off Scarecrow? You're lucky the bastard didn't gas your ass for it!"

Damon slaps the top of Someone's head, bringing a yelp from the owner's mouth. "He almost did! We had to give him some of our better stock for half price just to shut up that corpse. Good job, _boss_."

"It was worth a try..."

Hand to his chin, Gar finally asks. "So what do you guys have in mind?"

---

Up the long, hollow steps. Each one a drummer's note, each one a heartbeat of a building spanning three centuries. Booze-filled synapses register nothing on the walls but a brown haze and darker floorboards. Why couldn't Someone build a guest room on the ground floor?

Entering the room with a stagger, Gar sees the walls aren't as sparse as they once were. Granted, the Irish graffiti remains, added to in fact, but now it seems Someone's wife has started to make it feel more homely. Metal shades replaced with cloth, pictures on the walls instead of posters of Irish Nationalism, and a rug! This might all be appreciated if not for the fact that a now half-naked Watchman was about to collapse hard on a bed that would challenge him for mutual hardness. Drunken body wins, however, as he falls onto the well-worn mattress. After a full day walking and on the rails, not to mention copious amounts of Irish drinking and talking, some sleep is desperately desired.

But not even his alcohol-induced euphoria can hide one simple fact from his mind: Nostalgia. Three years since this bed... Deep blue eyes, staring into the depths of darker green orbs? Wasn't it this bed that last time, in this same drunken state, that instead of a pillow, he held a woman?

Regret.... Wonder what she's doing now? Sleeping probably.. Its getting late in Salem, Fate probably has a sleeping schedule set up by now. She'll be happy not having to worry about me everynight..... C'mon, now you're starting to sound emo Garfield... Can't have that. How are you going to make these freaks fear you if you can't accept...

"Seriously, I need to sleep... just be quiet..."

... face buried into the pillow, blanket unnecessary at the moment from the alcohol's heat, Gar finds himself drifting into an uneasy sleep, unsure of what tomorrow might bring. With luck, it'll bring him one step closer to facing Desade's Gang again rather than another night of drinking. This ain't gonna feel good in the morning..

---

A/N2: Someone was bound to make some trouble in this series again sometime... Poor Gar, this is gonna hurt in the morning. Only question is can Gar work with some of Gotham's freaks or is he going to have to learn the hard way that Gotham isn't Jump City? .... Gar better not fucking turn Emo on me either, I like his madman side!

Trivia:  
- Since the Gotham arc of "Watchman I" was named after a U2 song, I'm keeping the trend. "City of Blinding Lights" is about New York and being overwhelmed by it at first.

Question: If anyone lives in the Manhattan region, can you drop me a few suggestions for local bars, cafes, restuaraunts that you'd know? I'm a Philadelphia native through and through but New York always facinated me. Suggestions will result in favoritism and possible entries in your name.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: And we're back, with six reviews already! Whoo-hoo, whoo-hoo-hoo! This chapter's gonna kick you square in the ass from start to finish, because I don't like you and your preconceptions of "things must happen rationally and/or politely".. heheh. Oh, by the way, there's a guest cameo in this chappie. Don't bitch about the ending though, "its all... part of the plan..."

**The Watchman III****  
**

---

The crash of wood, snapping hard against the wall like the end of an outlaw's whip. Splinters fly off the piece as men rush into the room, faces covered by ski-masks..

"What the..."

Before Gar's groggy mind can awaken enough to comprehend, he is forcibly thrown from the bed and blinded by a black bag. Struggling against his attackers, he quickly feels the cold steel of a syringe enter his skin.

"Poison..." he whispers before the drugs take effect on his system. In an instant, the blackness of the bag gives way to the darkness of unconsciousness...

---

A flush of activity, the bag is removed. Expanses of thick emptiness of light except for a few bulbs turned on above his head. Sitting in a chair, unbound, but not alone, Gar stares weakly ahead at the surrounding environment. Although groggy at first, Gar's surprised to find he's wearing his coat and kevlar suit rather than the clothes worn last night to bed.

"About time you woke up." A voice echoes through the room.

"What the fuck is going on?"

"You haven't been entirely honest with us, Watchman." The voice could be considered nearly mocking if not for the irritation present in the tone.

Gar willingly returns the irritation in spades. "Hard to be honest with a person you can't see!"

Stepping into the lights, Watchman's face twists into a confused surprise at the sight of Damon and Someone, both in suits underneath duster jackets. Damon's face looks none too pleased but pales in comparison to Someone's.

"How about now?" Damon asks, eyebrow raising slightly.

"Someone? Damon? What the fuck guys? What the hell's this all about?" Irritation fading to concern, Gar's eye refrains from twitching.. for now.

"You t'be at a'place of our choosin', Watchm'n. Y'lied t'us last night, t'at y'did." Someone replies, hands in his coat and glaring daggers at his "guest".

"Forgot to mention the quarter million dollar bounty on your head, didn't you?" Damon reminds, cutting off the expected denial forthcoming.

Concern turning to contempt, Gar hisses in reply "So that's what this is about? You're after that bounty? You just think you two can take me in?"

"D'unah be st'upid, Watchm'n. If we t'be killin' ya for t'reward, we'd t'be doin' t'at long a'go!" Someone yells back. Some people just don't see the bigger picture right away.

"Then what the hell is this all about then?"

"You told us you came out here to get stronger to deal with the Desades. Problem is by not _trusting_ us to tell us about the bounty, you in effect lied to us." Damon informs with the glare ever-present.

"T'ats a'bad mistake."

Leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms, Gar sneers at the both of them. "Ok, I'll give you that. I needed to cover my ass in case one of yous decided to get the wrong idea. So now what? You're gonna try it anyway?"

Lighting up a cigarette, Damon takes a long drag from the burning piece of paper and tobacco. Exhaling, relieving the stress for the moment, smoke filling the air in its wake, he announces quaintly. "No. There's no point in doing that."

"Cost a'takin' ya sorry loady ass 'ome'd be too much e'ven f'me!" Someone replies, waving his hand to disperse the smoke. Drinking might be tolerable but smoking is another vice altogether.

"So you're going to help redeem yourself as well as help yourself." Damon warns, avoiding Someone's hands lest he be swatted.

"'Ey, sorry if I d'unah like y'smoke in m'face!" Someone spits back, flipping Damon the middle finger.

"Considering how you two work, you'll want something business-related done, right? What do you have in mind? Run some guns, shake down some debts, rob a few liquor stores or something?" Gar suggests though not exactly happy at the bickering pair before him.

"Y'make it sound s'bad, ya do!" Someone complains, happy that Damon's agreed to put up the cigarette.

"I have two childish Irishmen whining that I didn't tell them about some bounty... and the only way to "redeem" myself is to do some of their dirty work. Excuse me for sounding pessimistic but that isn't exactly a great thing to handle with a hangover."

"Aye, got a'point he does!" Someone announces, elbowing Damon with a wry grin.

Damon, however, is less than pleased with the banter.

"Actually, you won't be doing any of those things. I doubt an ex-Leaguer would be good at any of those jobs. No, what you're going to do is something entirely different."

"And that is?"

Nodding to Someone, who smiles with a slightly manic expression, the pair fade into the darkness.

"Survive."

---

No sooner than those words are spoken, a third man, unseen from a ski-mask obscuring his face, leaps from the dark with a knife aimed at Gar's heart. Blinking fast, Gar kicks off the chair, flipping backwards past it while the knife embeds into the wood.

"Survive, huh? Guess its what I get for trusting a pair of criminals." Gar mutters to himself, cracking his knuckles.

His opponent, knife removed, produces a second blade and starts spinning them about in his hand.

"I don't know what you want, pal, but if you think I'm gonna let you kill me.."

Bustle of motion perks Gar's ears up, his body instinctively throws itself sideways, out of the way of a third blade coming his way. Another new arrival, again hidden by black cloth, misses his attempt at piercing Gar's flesh.

Skidding to a halt, Watchman finds himself staring down the two would-be assassins, knives in their hands glistening off the lightbulbs above.

"Just how many of you are there?"

Several lighters in the room spark to life, each one producing a tiny glow that's just barely visible enough for Gar's eyes to see. Judging by the fact they surround him on all sides, sometimes two or three flames deep, he figures it must be close to thirty at best.

Gritting teeth, narrowing eyes, pulse quickening... Dumb questions require a smart-ass answer.

"Thirty to one odds, huh? Well if you're going to die, DIE SWINGING!"

At the statement, several flames vanish and men appear from the darkness, each masked and holding a variety of weapons. Some carry chains, others with knives, a few with pipes and bats. Armed only with his wits and his fists, Watchman's in for a long day's work.. Shame it couldn't happen on a clear mind.

One man down, a punch across his face sending him reeling, thrown into the body of a second, rushing attacker. Here comes the next, eyes wide, mouth screaming unseen beneath the mask, his pipe swinging for Gar's face. Sweat beads down Gar's neck before that neck, with the rest of his body, transforms into the tiny speck of flesh that is found in a flea. Landing on the pipe, the tiny, green dot bounces off the iron construct towards the offending man. Growing larger to the design of a porcupine, Watchman squeaks with delight as his quills catch the man square in the face, piercing through the cotton mask and stabbing him between the eyes. Leaping off, Gar returns to a human form, landing on the seat of the chair, arms folded as the third victim falls back into the blackness.

"Impressive." Damon's voice echoes in the room, drawing Gar's attention back towards the sound of the voice. Left eye visible as he looks over his shoulder, it shines brilliantly in the light bulb's radiance but with a fire most unattractive. Green flames burn the hottest after all.

A chain slaps hard against Gar's body, throwing him back off the chair with a painful groan. Concrete, no matter how tough you are, still hurts to land on ribs first.

"But easily distracted."

Looking up, one eye squinting from the rush of burning pain from his side, Gar sees the man with the chain dart out into the light, swinging his weapon joyfully. Smacking the concrete, he wills his body upward, catching the chain-bearer hard under the chin with one of Watchman's boots. Finishing the flip, Gar's same boots smack hard against the ground, hand outstretched and ready for the next attack. "Chain man" lands back into the darkness, bringing a smile to the green vigilante's face.

"I might be easily distracted but these guys lack the smarts to stop me."

"Ah d'unah 'no bout t'at?" With the snap of a finger, all of the lights in the room turn on, revealing a sight that thoroughly wipes the smile off of Gar's face.

Before him, where the first three men charged forth, stand another six men with guns aimed. Six "Tommy" guns, barrels locked and safeties removed, stand poised to fill Gar's green, fleshy body to the gills with hot lead.

"Now w'da do, Watchie?"

Grabbing the chair swiftly, Gar hurls it at the attackers before leaping forward behind it. As the guns start to fire, the entire room seems to fill in slow motion. Guns blazing, sending their projectiles screaming at the wooden chair hurtling towards their direction.... Gar, body stretched out, coat flapping in the rush of air, smiles gravely before his body begins to shift... Bullets hit the wood, breaking the legs and back off but the thicker, hardier center remains intact long enough to survive the throw. Landing hard in front of the shooters, they're surprised to see a snake spring from behind the wood, mouth open as it wraps around a man. Desperately, his victim flails about like a child, screaming for help as he wraps his reptilian body around the shooter's throat. Hissing at the other gunners as they try to help their friend, they find themselves in a bind. Shoot the snake and risk killing their associate or...

Changing quickly into a monkey, Gar flips forward, using his feet to claw into the next man's eye, using his forehead as a jump-off point to attack the man to the farthest right of the line. Splashing onto his face, the shock rattles the attacker back, tripping over his own feet and bringing them crashing hard onto the concrete. The blow knocks out the victim.. Three down..

Although clapping can be heard across the room, the green eyed monkey will have none of it. Away from the downed gunner, Watchman has to shift into a fly as bullets start to come down on his position again. With his thousand eyes, he can easily see the bullets coming fast. Each round dwarfs his own body in size, seeming as tree trunks passing by him rather than miniature bits of lead. Back in range of the closest target, Gar returns to a human form. Spinning his body, Gar delivers a sickening, rotating right hook across the cheek. A tooth flies across the room from the impact just as Gar lands on the ground, pupils dilated from the adrenaline surging through his animalistic body. With the last two gunners stepping back, their guns empty and desperately trying to reload, they stare in horror as Gar's normally green eyes, surrounded by white, turn entirely green with an unnatural glow. Fangs jutting from his gums, large and in charge, he cackles lowly with a predator's smile.

"Four down, two to go." Licking his teeth, Watchman warns "YOU FIRST!"

Hand snatching forward, Gar grabs the "first" man with his clawed hand, lifting him off the ground enough to drop the man's Tommy.

Shouting at Gar though with fear in his own voice, the second man tries to aim his gun to aid his comrade.

"And now YOU!"

Kicking the gun out of the other's hands, Gar then pivots his feet, throwing the first man's body hard into the second's, creating a heap on the floor.

Gunners subdued, he turns towards the spot Damon and Someone stand. Now tall and proud, teeth very visible as the smile grows on his face, eyes still wide and glowing. His green hair, normally resting peacefully at his side, is wild and waving with each motion. Although sweat beads down his face and breath escapes his lungs with a slight raggedness, he betrays no sign of stopping. Snapping his hand shut, forming a thick first, Gar shouts across the room.

"More!"

"Seem t'be happy for once, aye?" Someone suggests, shrugging as he looks at Damon with hands stretched out.

"Yes but that's only because we've just begun." Damon reminds. Looking back to Gar, he answers "You want more, huh? Good because we're just getting started. Only this time you won't be fighting some of the locals."

Eyes widening a bit more, expressions akin to hyperness or insanity across his face, Watchman's voice is silkily scary. "And who might that be?"

Heavy footsteps, understatement that might be, echoes through the building. With the light from the stairway blocked by something unseen, though obviously large from the depth of the shadow, Gar finds his manic enjoyment turning slightly to manic rage. With Someone and Damon smiling, they are joined by a living monster.

"You gotta be kiddin' me? You said I was gonna fight someone tough!" Echoing across the room, the pale blue monster, bald and scaly, booms through each person inside like a thunderbolt. Teeth sharp, eyes narrowed, this presents a challenge that even Watchman wasn't expecting.

"Looks can be deceiving, Croc. Beat him or you don't get paid." Damon warns, trying to maintain a serious face despite the risk of being turned on.

"Aww but still! I could snap this guy in half by the time ya finish writin' the check!" The whine in his voice doesn't take away from the reptile's glare at Gar, nor the toothy smile on his rough face.

The words, supposed to be an insult, only entice Garfield. Smile returning, eyes still blazing, he steps towards the center of the room. "Pretty tough words for a B-rated criminal."

Smile turning into a growl, Croc stomps angrily over to Watchman with his own eyes turning angry. How dare this little.. "What did ya say to me, boy?!"

Meeting Croc at the center of the room, Gar casually reminds Killer Croc. "Said tough words for a freak not worthy of the League's time. Maybe you still have some shit in your ears from playing in the sewers all day."

"YOU LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT!" Croc screams, balling his hands together and bringing them down at Gar's body, shorter that it is, with the intention of squashing him flat. All Croc ends up hitting, however, is air as the Watchman's body disappears from sight. "Wha? Where did he go?" Buzzing noise? Where? Eyes wide, something flaps tiny wings on the end of the mutant's nose. Clumsily, he tries to swat away the bug but only manages to hurt himself from the blow. Roaring in pain, Croc staggers back a few steps as Gar reappears before him. "What the hell ya? Some kind a freak or somethin?"

Much to Damon and Someone's surprise, if not horror, Gar's reply is simple and throaty. "Freak? That means I was born that way. No, I'm not a freak.. I'M A MONSTER!"

Diving forward, Gar makes a bold, yet costly, attack. Though he manages to spear Croc, enough to throw him back at least six paces, this opens him up to a bearhug from Croc. For the first time in the fight, Gar makes a bad mistake. Using his own size and mass against him, Croc squeezes the Watchman with all of his might. Pain from the ribs registers in Gar's mind, bringing a shout of agony as well as rage from his throat.

"Ya thought I was another one of those dumbass goons, huh? Ya ain't fightin' just any old assclown, boy, you're fightin' Croc!"

Gritting in pain, teeth clenched hard, Gar struggles to look up at Croc's smiling, boasting face. Sliding his scaly tongue across his yellow teeth, he looks ready to savor the killing blow.. Premature.

"Croc..." Gar whispers, closing his eyes... And when they snap open, Croc's own face recoils at the sight beheld to him. Reptilian in itself, Gar's body shifts in the bearhug to form a crocodile of his own. Digging his claws into the villain's body, he snaps forward and brings his powerful jaws down on top of Croc's face. The pain rushes through even the Croc's hardened body, releasing his grasp on the beast currently biting down hard on his head.

As Croc staggers back again, trying to shake off Gar, he fails to notice the wall behind him. Slamming hard, he's jolted enough to shake Gar off but enough to give his attacker the advantage. Swiftly changing into a ram, Watchman pounds the stomach of the criminal twice. Each blow sends spittle and, eventually, some blood from Croc's mouth. Eyes still ablaze, Gar changes into a variety of animals, each one striking and attacking the reeling victim before him. Blow after blow, attack after devastating attack, each aimed at dealing a finishing blow. Drops of blood turns to a pool of blood, skin turns from light blue to red from the welts, Gar's on the verge of..

"STOP!" Croc finally shouts. Holding his stomach, mouth bleeding and eyes shutting in pain. "I give, I give! What the hell are you?!!"

Standing back, Gar's eyes return to normal though gazing at Croc's figure with all the coldness and disdain of a man looking at filth. "What am I? I'm the man that just kicked your sorry ass."

As Someone and Damon stare on, mouths wide in surprise, Gar leans in close to Croc and warns him in a very inkblot-esque way. "Tired of your kind. Tired of your shit. So, we're going to make a little deal. Fuck it up and you die."

"Anything... what do ya want?"

"Scarecrow. Tell him Watchman wants to talk. Three days from now. If he's not here then, next time you die."

Nodding, scared by this shift in attitude from the smaller yet scarier vigilante, Croc quickly accepts this easy escape.

"Good. Get out. I have more important things to deal with."

Not as quickly as he'd like, Gar watches as Croc stumbles up to his feet and lumbers up the stairwell, cursing Watchman out as he does it but not loud enough to irk his rage further.

Turning now to the scared expressions of Damon and Someone, Gar warns with a cold, bitter question. "Do you trust me now?"

---

A/N2: Gar's release from the League might turn out to be a blessing in disguise. For those that have been to my Deviantart account, there's a preview of what this "angry" Gar looks like... hehe. I love it. It was slow writing at first but I threw on some hardcore techno, fightin' music, and it just took off. Granted it has some "Matrix" feel to it but in the end, fights aren't supposed to be episodes long.. fights are short and to the point. Either you win or you lose.

Trivia:  
- Batman TAS Croc, not the dark green / red eyed version seen later. That version I didn't like, I liked the old one better.

Rhetorical:  
Seems, once again, the Irish have unleashed a monster. I pity the Scarecrow when Gar runs into him.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I noticed I don't update quite as fast as I normally do. Forgiveness in order but the longer I write "Watchman", the harder the ideas come. However, this little swerve in the road chapter might amuse you. Its Gar actually having a little fun but also letting him be "him" in a sense. Plus since it's gonna be "three days" until Scarecrow needs to show, I didn't want to miss out on what Gar might be doing in his downtime.... that and a certain Cat makes an appearance.

**The Watchman III****  
**

---

Car horns... Never thought there could be so many in one area, even in the evening, but you just can't seem to escape them all. An orchestra of car alarms, police sirens forming the chorus far below this ledge. Highlighted by a red-colored sky, sun setting below the skyline, lights from the skyscrapers filling the void created by the retreating sun, Gar stares placidly below. How many people ride those taxis without care? How many pedestrians look at the storefronts without regret? Do they know just how fragile this world really is? How fragile their lives really are?

How fragile his own really is?

_"'oly piss in'a jar, Watchy t'at was a'mazin!"_

_"Why didn't you do that against Desade? You could've killed him if you pulled that off"_

_"That's why. If I did it back in Jump, I would've killed him. Then I'd really be fucked."_

_"Wha? How do ya fig'a t'at one?"_

_"If I would've killed them while on a League assignment, they could've had me arrested for murder. Plus, the others were around... Its really complicated right now."_

_"The League part makes sense. But you said you tried to toughen up around them before you left. Why would you care then?"_

_"Because Desade's gang isn't like Croc, Damon. I don't think they'll care if they die. Desade never gave up before, Baptist looks insane, and I'm not even going near Desade's daughter.."_

_"Plus ol'Rave not b'far away, aye?"_

_"Yeah. If she knew I finally killed someone, it might send her over the edge. Broken up or not I still owe it to her not to betray that promise."_

_"Even if you're not in the League anymore?"_

That last statement raises a good point. Now outside of the League's ranks, does that mean he _could_ kill? Or would that only make the League pursue him as a criminal just like the people he's sworn to defeat?

Growling now, shaking his head "Why the hell does everything have to be so morally fucking complicated?!"

Weren't things so much easier when it was just _"there's the bad guy, we're the good guys, lets beat the fuck out of him?"_ Sigh. Things were easier, weren't they?

Derisive snort, roll of the eyes, grin on his face. "Yeah but this has to be better than being the jokester again, being Mr. Nice Guy. Least this job comes with perks."

Sitting back on the concrete, looking up at the tall buildings, Gar can't help but exhale in the cool, Atlantic breeze. If this were Jump City, the sweet smell of Chinese food and ocean salt would be forming in the air around his body. An incredible blend of man-made delicacy and nature-made necessity that assaults the senses from the Westerly winds. Ah, but Gotham City has its own pleasures too. Closing his eyes, bringing everything into his senses, Gar reaches out to bring Gotham to him. Three buildings down, beneath a red/white overhang, a local pizzeria is in full swing for the evening rush. Cheese, tomato, garlic, dough... all wrapped together in an enviable mesh of heat, yeast, vegetable, and dairy, cut thick enough to fill Cyborg yet good enough to make even Batman smile. Scratch that, how about make Raven smile?

Opening his eyes, the smile once present returns to a frown at the sight of the red sky above. Gotham's red sky always looked like an expansive, endless sea of blood.. No, Jump City at night isn't perfect, but the twilight sunset always did form such a beautiful mixture of purple and blue. Deep blue. Raven...

"Could I be regretting it? Just a little?"

No reply from the depths of the ruby-red sky, nor from the black figure standing behind Gar in the shadows...

---

"You know, I don't even know how you convinced me to do this." Garfield admits, both with a trace of irritation and an equally noticeable hint of humor. Its one thing to be coaxed into doing something you're not used to, its another considering who the target is.

"I'd like to say my..."

"You say "purrrfect" personality, you die." Gar points out with a grin. Some gimmicks, no matter how old..

Feigning hurt, Catwoman holds a hand to her leather-clad chest "Now that's not a nice way to treat a woman."

Looking down at the building below, Watchman's eyebrow raises in disbelief "Tell me this is the behavior of a woman?"

Glancing down towards the level in question, Selena Kyle smiles beneath the mask "Someone has to be the cute one of the two of us."

Shaking his head, Gar reminds "You're right. Its a burden, I know, but its something I live with everyday."

Standing on the ledge, back to the towering building behind her, Kyle jokes "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Mr. Watchman. Now keep up if you can."

Hopping off the ledge, Catwoman bounds towards the street, whip snapping from her side and latching onto a window ledge across the street. Swinging in an acrobat's style, she finds herself perched on the window's ledge on all four's. Looking back towards the building, she looks perplexed until she looks up a floor above her. Gar, cat-like smile of his own, looks down with a grin.

"Show off."

---

At the top of the building, following a series of perfectly timed leaps from ledge to ledge, the pair find themselves at the window of the top executive's office. Not much to speak over minus a simple desk, couple of table displays, and some artwork. But, to those foolish enough to know, the office of Bruce Wayne pales in comparison to the void that is the Bat-Cave..

"How do you plan on getting in?" Gar asks, noticing the lack of windows to sneak his way in. The sooner they enter, the better. With all the sea breeze, the coat seems more like a flag in the wind than an instrument of personal warmth. Catwoman, however, doesn't face that problem.

Snapping a pair of claws out of her hands, she winks at Gar for a second before starting to cut a hole for the two of them.

"Must be out of my mind." Gar jokes to himself, watching her cut a gap large enough to squeeze though. "Helping a criminal break into Batman's own office like this.. He finds out we did this.."

"Then he'll have to live with it. A girl's gotta remind her man what happens when he starts playing with children."

"You wouldn't happen to mean Batgirl, would you?" Watchman suggests, quirked eyebrow and a wry grin.

"The redhead with the empty head? How did you know that?" The sarcasm alone in that comment is enough to wipe the smile off of his face.

"Point taken."

"Besides," Kyle suggests, returning to a normal state of humor again. "I would've thought you'd enjoy this little payback for what the League's been making you do."

Glass nearly cut, Gar finds himself asking "And how would you know about that?"

"Please.. You think we don't hear these things?" Seriously, men can be so dense. "Most of the underworld knows about the Watchmen. We even heard about how you told the League to shove it when they told you no killing. Very nice by the way."

POP, out comes the glass.

"What's the point of fighting criminals if you can't keep the dangerous ones from hurting others?"

About to enter the hole, covered eyes look back at Gar, smile on her black lips, Kyle asks "Does that make _me_ one of the dangerous ones?"

For the first time in long while, Gar doesn't just find himself speechless.. but speechless from a woman catching him off-guard. Not even Raven or Jinx could..

---

"He's going to kill us and you know it."

Gar's words might be right. Judging from the scratch marks, spray paint, as well as a few other unflattering reminders across the room, the place might pass for a grunge pit.. Or a really expensive version of Gar's room after the first night with the Beast. Yeah, wasn't THAT fun explaining that one to the Titans?

"Who us?" Catwoman suggests playfully, pointing to the camera. She may have a point. Hard to prove who broke in when there's a cat-styled piece of cardboard over the camera.

"Using Friskies is a dead giveaway you know." Gar reminds, pointing at the camera through folded arms.

"He'll get over it, he always does."

"Bat just can't resist the cat, can he?" Gar suggests.

Striking a pose, hand on her hip, devious smile on her lips, Kyle asks "Not just bats, babe, but all of the birds too."

"Yeah, problem is the cat often ends up eating the bird." Gar reminds, turning away from her and moving towards the window.

"You're absolutely no fun, you know that? Looks like all those Rorschach jokes about you were true after all."

Dead stop, back to the villainess. Shoulders tense, body moving slightly from deeply silent inhale and exhales.. "Rorschach jokes? Is that what your kind does behind my back?"

"_My_ _kind_? You make it sound like all of us hang out together. But yeah, some of them do."

"You know, Catwoman, if I really was becoming that man, I doubt I'd be here right now helping you play some little prank on Bruce Wayne." A hint of warning in that tone.

"That supposed to scare me? You didn't have to come along, Watchman.."

Turning back to her, Gar reminds through narrow eyes and a cold stare "If I was becoming Rorschach, I'd probably break your paws right now.. Followed by throwing you out of that window."

For the first time in their short partnership, Selena Kyle feels a small rush of fear of this man in front of her. Sure there was something intense about him from the start but nothing of this caliber.

"But if you really want to see _my_ kind of fun, lets wrap up this little payback bullshit and have some _real_ fun."

Fear giving way to intrigue, Catwoman retracts her claws after a brief stareoff. Maybe its the green eyes, so very similar to a cat's.. Or the ironically feline-shaped smile on his face.. But something suggests in her odd mind that maybe, just maybe, Watchman could have a funny side afterall.

---

"Help! Someone! He just took my purse!"

Screeching across the crime-infested East End, a woman shouts in vain as a burly man clad in dark clothes runs into the darkness. In his hands is an unusually colored beige bag, obviously the source of the woman's futile cries. Another statistic in the ever-growing statistic that is thefts in Gotham City.

"Another easy payday..."

However, as the man finds himself out of range of the woman, he sees something interesting in front of him. Arranged within the confines of a money clip, a fistful of dollars, Benjamins it seems, lies on a stair step not more than ten feet away from him.

"Oh yeah, today's definitely my lucky day."

Casually strolling up to the money clip, he reaches down to pick up the money.. Only for it to pull away.

"Wha? Hey, what the hell's going on here?"

Scrambling, he tries over and over again to snag the money but repeatedly runs afoul of the retreating dollar bills. With each foot it retreats, he notices it getting closer and closer to an alleyway not far from his position.

"Oh, I see, someone's fucking around with me. Fucking kids think they're gonna pull one over on me! I'll teach these shits a lesson in manners!"

Ignoring the money, for now of course, the thief runs past the bills and around the corner of the alley.

"Ok, you little shitheads, come out and take your beatings like men! You think its funny playing around like that? C'mon, I got two jokes to laugh at right here!" Emphasizing his fists as "the jokes", he shouts about the alley, looking for the source of the escaping dollar bills.

"Uh oh... looks like the mouse walked right into its cage. What a shame." Catwoman coos, stepping out of the darkness and facing the man in question.

"Hey, who you callin' a rat?"

"Definitely not too bright, are you? Sorry rodent, no cheese here.."

Obviously the thief isn't aware of who he's about to fuck with. Smashing his fist into his palm horizontally from his chest, he growls in anger, threatening "Kitty, I'm about to beat your head into catnip! Hope your owner doesn't mind the mess.."

As the distance between the two's closed, however, the thief stops at the sight of a black shadow falling from the rooftop. Stretched out, looking like a horrifyingly iconic figure, his anger turns to terror at the sight. Landing next to Catwoman, still shrouded in shade, all the man can see are green radiance from what appear to be eyes.

"B.b.?" the thief shrieks, not understanding one bit of the situation. How could this be happening? All he wanted was..

"Batman?" The chillingly haunting voice, coupled with the hint of death forthcoming, raises what little hair the man has left straight up. "No, not a Bat. Watchman!"

Stepping back now, hands raised, pleading. "Watchman? You can't be! You're supposed to be..."

Also taking a step forward, Gar's body now comes into the street lights. Although its only his face visible enough to make out details, its more than enough to scare the thief into a whole new level of terror.

"Supposed to be WHAT?" The increase in volume despite the lack of facial response sends sweat pouring down the man's neck. "Dead?" One finger snaps a claw in extension. "Vanished?" Two.. "In Jump City?" Three. "With the Justice League?" Four.. "A GOOD GUY?!" The final finger on his left hand snaps open with a claw piercing out.

Now his own turn to retreat, the thief tries to make his escape before a leather whip snaps out through the night, wrapping around his legs and bringing him to a painful thud on the asphalt below.

"Now now, we can't have our little mouse scurrying away." Eyes narrowed herself, Catwoman points out "This kitty's out of catnip!"

That's when the begging begins. Just like every other convict and criminal, thief and burglar... Each one that finds themselves at the end of their cowardly course through existence. Watchman looms tall over the man, green eyes contrasting the red sky above in a twisted dichotomy. The tranquilly of a supposedly blood-like sky seems horribly out of place next to the fire that is the supposedly serene emerald eyes of the Watchman.

As Catwoman watches, a strange mixture of caution and curiosity, Watchman crouches down next to the thief.

"Cats hate mice. Hate them for being ignorant, being blind. Rats can't think two steps ahead. Cats plot, scheme, enjoy a hunt. Mouse doesn't deserve to live."

"What... c'mon, don't kill me!"

Gar taps a clawed finger on the man's forehead, digging the nail slightly into the skin. "Mouse wants a cookie, right? How about some milk? ." Digging the claw deeper, blood starts to seep out from the wound. "Milk makes the bones strong."

Eyes opening as Gar releases the finger from his forehead, the thief immediately regrets it as the sight before him isn't Garfield's human face. You might even say its not even in the same species. Roaring into his face from a distance no greater than three inches, the man finds himself face to mouth with a large, black panther. Fangs jutting from the top of gums, surrounded by razor-sharp teeth, saliva dripping onto his face. Before this moment, the thief didn't realize that fear can cause both the front door and the back door to release at the same time.

Feeling the whip release from his feet, the burglar finds his bearings and quickly scrambles away from the sight, screaming into the night as he rounds the corner. Walking over to a grinning Catwoman, Gar circles around her once before returning to human form.

"Milk makes the bones strong, huh?"

Licking his right fang, Gar replies "Yeah but not strong enough to keep a cat from biting through."

"You have a very evil sense of humor, Watchman."

A grin for a grin is in order and Watchman doesn't disappoint. "Scaring criminals to the point of shitting and pissing themselves is evil? I thought that's what cats normally did to mice before they ate them?"

"Not all of us are _that_ cruel." Taking a couple of steps away towards the exit, Kyle suddenly stops "But I must admit, you do make a _very_ attractive cat." Turning back to see his reaction, she's surprised by the sight. All that's visible in the alleyway is emptiness and darkness.

Surprised at first, she finds herself nearly laughing at the irony. "Well, seems you're good at being a being a bat too, aren't you Watchman?"

---

A/N2: Meow! Hah! I knew you kiddies would like that! People like to smile, even when Gar's making people shit themselves! Still though, I imagine that Watchman and Catwoman MIGHT make an interesting partnership (not that kinda way either) in that both don't mind stepping outside of the "rules" to set good, and bad, guys straight. That and having the ahimal thing between them gives them a good anchor. Gar's just too damn popular with villains, I can't describe it. Then again though, what might be "good guy" to one person might actually be "terrorist" to another.. and "bad guy" to someone might actually be "misunderstood" to someone else?

Trivia:  
- Fistful of Dollars... GREAT series.. Clint Eastwood is still the man, no matter how old he gets.  
- Yes, references to Bruce and Batgirl... I still don't get that, really  
- Yes, I know, Rorschach didn't throw Comedian out of the window.. but Gar probably would do that.  
- "Give a mouse a cookie...", who remembers THAT old story?  
- The thief with the "you're supposed to be..", in retrospect, can also be a reference to "Titans GO!" with the scene with Robin.  
- "Purrrfect".. Campy Batman, yes, but still funny.

Rhetorical:  
Bet your ass didn't see the Batman-style vanishing act at the end, did you?


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This chapter... you might think "oh, its just an exposition chapter".. Well, what's one thing you know about me? You think you have all the answers, I change the fucking questions. Best advice I ever heard from Alan Moore was "Don't give the readers what they want, give them what they need. Readers don't know what they want." Don't worry, I intend to do just so. Hell, I'm getting the old (evil Bender laugh) feeling back because not a single one of you know how this arc's gonna end. God I love it. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter... That and a particularly dark Crow makes his redebut...

**The Watchman III****  
**

---

Three days since the attack on Killer Croc... Three long, boring days filled with the usual waiting, drinking with Someone, plus the occasional assault on a criminal. Sure the bar's lively tonight, not to mention in an uproar over a drinking contest between Someone and a local foolish enough to make a dare. At the manic Irishman's request, the band is extra loud tonight, wailing away on fiddles, drums, and pipes. Funny how one mess of a man can bring so much chaos to this small hamlet in the middle of the hell-hole known as Gotham. Judging by the smiling faces and laughing expressions, however, it might actually be a welcome haven in the storm?

How ironic is it that the smiles disappear as though the hands of the reaper had wiped them clean off in an instant. Just as when Gar entered the threshold days prior, the sight of a tall man, clad in black with a corpse mask and noose on his neck sends the bar into a hush. In the lull, Scarecrow looks about the room, surveying the patrons and gazing for the one man in particular that might...

"'EY!!!! SCAR'CRO! HOW YA DOIN' MACKEY?!" Someone shouts, leaving the bar and walking over towards the entrance.

"Hug me and you die." Scarecrow points out, walking stick held out to keep the admittedly drunken Irishman at bay. From the ghastly tone of Scarecrow's already deathly grave voice, the threat is nothing to take lightly.

"Aw c'mon! T'at's not bit'a fun y'showin' an ol'friend a'ya!"

"You've had more alcohol than I care to imagine. I can smell you from here." Scarecrow reminds even with a good six feet apart from each other. Far enough for a coffin?

"No I 'aven't!"

"Not just booze, Crane." Watchman announces from behind the master of fear.. well, maybe not the master given the slight rise in the white eyes of the villain. "Stinks of bullshit too."

Gasping, Crane spins on a heel to see the Watchman looking down at him. Though the glasses hide his eyes, a noticeable smirk appears on the green face of the vigilante.

"Hello to you too."

"You've certainly changed these past three years." Scarecrow admits from the safer distance than previously occupied. Bored, Someone wanders away to join the growing chorus once more. This fact doesn't distract neither party however.

"Surprised? Shouldn't be. You of all people should've guessed it." That drawling, grizzled voice emanating from Gar's throat seems a strange mixture opposite the ghastly, raspy echo in Scarecrow's.

"And what is that supposed to imply?" If he could, Crane might be raising an eyebrow at that comment. For now, the corpse face will have to remain the same.

"Too public here. Talk downstairs."

Not taking a second to wait for Crane's acceptance, Gar moves to the doorway that leads to the basement. For a brief second, the doctor considers the notion before finally accepting. Best not to piss off the man who could very well rip him in two.

---

In the basement, Scarecrow observes the lack of lighting with its few light bulbs on and darkened corners. A few stains of blood cover the area near the wall adjacent to the stairwell. Peculiar that it might be green blood however..

"I assume this is where you assaulted Croc?"

Glancing over his shoulder, Gar points out "Assault implies first-strike. He got what came to him."

Walking over to a pair of chairs under the light, Scarecrow admits with a jest of irony "Surprised really. I thought you would've killed him."

"Interesting choice of words..." The warning in that statement is well-warranted. Sitting across from the zombie-looking villain, Gar points out. "That's the reason I asked for you to come here."

"I figured as much. You never were the type to just call and say hello."

Eyes obscured by the brightness in the bulbs, shining off green glass, Gar asks contrastingly dark. "I'm also not the type you imagined me, am I?"

"No."

"Then how would you describe me?"

"A child in a man's body lost in this game of life. You're searching for a meaning but what that meaning is definitely is beyond your ability to grasp." Leaning forward onto his stick, Scarecrow dares to invoke some humor at Gar's expense. "Its actually quite sad, really. For all of your threats and bully tactics, you're nothing more than a League-sponsored enforcer."

"Ex-League." Neutral expression turning to a frown, knuckles cracking a bit as he flexes his fingers, Gar's body reads like an open book.

"Right." Scarecrow sarcastically answers. "You think the Justice League would just let someone like you escape? No, they need you as much as you need me at this very moment."

"How do you figure that?"

Leaning back in his chair, Scarecrow points out. "The League has no real reason to exist anymore. Without those hawk people, Darkseid, or Lex Luthor around, the League has no major enemies to contend with. And just like a human being, when a group runs out of something to fight, they become afraid. Why? Because they start to look inward for a demon to fight."

Gar's expression doesn't change from the slight frown, although his hands find his way to a folding position on his knees.

"You've probably noticed how the League has been quietly covering up the fact that they've run out of enemies to fight? With most of the costumed "bad guys" killed during the Darkseid incident, they've become too large to continue the status quo."

"You're beginning to sound like Question." Gar points out without a change of expression. Bad enough they physically sound the same..

"I'll cut to the chase then. Gotham City is Batman's territory and he won't give it up without a fight. Didn't you ever wonder why Batman blacklisted you during your last visit to Gotham?"

"He doesn't want others to ruin his fun. Got that already."

Tapping his stick on the ground once, Scarecrow suggests "Did you get the fact that maybe he was hiding the pact us villains made not to interfere in League affairs?"

"The Bat-embargo, yes?" Garfield suggests. Vague, yes, but that bit of history did have a profound effect during the expansion of the League.

"Is that what they called it? We preferred to call it a different name but if that's what you'll prefer..."

"Get back on point. What does this all mean?" History aside, Crane's stalling and its starting to make a green man's eyebrow twitch...

Another tap of the cane. "It means that without Gotham to keep the League busy, they're going to start looking inward in order to keep their existence going."

"A purge?" Interesting concept but would they?

"They aren't Soviet Russia as far as I'm aware of, Watchman. Something else though... Imagine if the League decided to begin scaling down its activities at the same time their enemies were evolving?"

A brief moment of silence follows that suggestion as Gar puts a finger to his lip. With Scarecrow returning the gaze, bemused it seems from the tilt of his neck, the answer begs to be revealed in the darkness.

"White Rabbit? Desade?.... Ripper?"

"A new breed of villain is evolving, Watchman. The current generation of good guys and bad guys are quickly becoming phased out by those willing to deal drugs and those that aren't. The proof of their success comes in the defeat of your Watchmen group in Jump City recently. Years ago such a team of heroes would have easily defeated a similar group of my kind.."

"That's why the League needs me?" Gar suggests before lowering his sunglasses. Green eyes narrow in the narrower light, staring sharply at the doctor opposite him. "I'm the next generation?"

"Perhaps. The real problem confronting them seems to be your attitude towards fighting this new problem." A third tap. "From what I hear you've been trying to cope with the realities of committing murder. By the old definition of our profession, this would imply a cross between sides. A hero turning bad is nothing new to us but a villain killing other villains is bad for business."

Brow raised, Gar counters. "But business is changing... Becoming grayer than before."

Corporeal mask pulling back into a twisted smile, Scarecrow confirms "And it would seem the only way to stop this destructive new evolution is to fight it with an even greater evil."

For a brief instant, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it second, a faint, green glow radiates in his emerald eyes. Watchman finds his own face pulling back into a grin as his throat gives way to a playfully dark voice. "It would, wouldn't it?"

---

Outside of the bar, a group of men pile out of a trio of early 20th century vehicles. Shined up shoes meeting wet, cobblestone streets, they don't seem like the type that would normally frequent this area...

---

"And that's why the League needs you. Unlike Batman, who'd never kill one of my kind under any circumstance, you understand reality. You know that the only way to fight this new spread of evil is through fear."

Nodding gently, Gar offers "High compliment from the master of fear."

Bemused snicker through the mask, raspy as it is. "We're not all madmen bent on murder, revenge, and domination. Some of us actually enjoy seeing others embrace our work."

"There's only one problem, Crane. You know no matter what I do, I'm still a product of the old-mentality in crime fighting."

"No killing, no matter what the situation. That rule might've applied to the fifties but today's a whole new situation." Scarecrow relents.

"Strange thing is I've had quite a number of times to abandon that rule since our last meeting. And yet... every time I've needed to break that rule to keep myself alive, I've faltered."

"Hmm, the fight against Desade last week?"

Smile turning to a snarl, Watchman admits "Yes. So far I've covered that I only did it to protect the other Watchmen as well as Raven. But I think its because I'm actually afraid to break that rule."

"Interesting. You accept you need to kill to end this problem early but to do so requires you breaking the moral absurdity you've built your entire life around."

If not for the generalizing way Scarecrow uses in his words, Gar might actually take it as an insult. Not many people ball their fists up then return to normal so quickly after all.

"Everyone has a breaking point, Scarecrow. Sooner or later I'm going to lose my control and break that rule knowingly or not." Gar points out. "I'm asking you for this favor so I can do so without falling back into a relapse."

Fourth tap. "You're asking me to help you overcome your fear of killing to help you fight my kind? And they call me the crazy one."

---

Upstairs, the door creaks open once again. As the gathered customers turn to see who's entering, their joy turns to despair as the new arrivals bear tommy guns...

---

"You help me do this and I'll give you something in return."

Tapping a pale finger to his chin, Scarecrow coos "Equal exchange? What do you have in mind?"

"A one-time chance to test some of your chemicals on a voluntary patient."

Cane falling to the floor, bouncing hard off the concrete, the corporeal face actually stares slack-jawed. No way did Watchman, the man who threatened to end his life on two different occasions, he did not just...

The roar of machine guns brings the attention of both men crushingly back to reality, their necks snapping towards the stairwell. In an instant, both find their way to their feet. Implications, presumptions, thousands of other things pass through their minds... But only one action takes hold: forward motion.

---

Upstairs, bodies crowd the floors, blood seeping into the floorboards and stools as corpses pile up. Casings fill the entryway, coupled with spent drums of ammunition. By the time Gar and Scarecrow make it to the scene, the firefight is already concluded and the shooters vanished.

"What the fuck?" Gar bluntly puts it, looking around at the carnage. Its been quite a long time since he's seen more than just the often seen murder victim. From his line of sight alone, he guesses that least ten to fifteen people lie dead on the floor.

Damon staggers out from behind the bar, clutching his side and walking over towards Gar.

"Damon!" Gar shouts, rushing over to the man's side, propping him up.

"Gar.. fuck!" Pain courses through his body, stinging like a billion bees with hot, molten rods for stingers. Seething, he grits his teeth and tries to speak. "Someone stormed the place, Watchman. They shot us up really good.."

Scarecrow moves for the telephone to call the police. Villain he might be but right now this situation is more important than a simple rivalry.

"Damon, relax. We'll get help as soon as we can." A pause before the thought occurs to him. "Where's Someone?"

Shouting from the back of the building seems to answer that question in its tracks. Judging from the horrifyingly loud pitch, coupled with the gut-wrenching cry of agony, Gar fears for the worst.

"'Crow, keep an eye on this one would you? I gotta find Someone."

Not caring to hear the reply, Gar hopes the villain in question won't disappoint as he leaves to find his host and friend.

Through the hallway leading to the back where the living quarter is, Gar ignores the crosses and pictures lining the darkened path. His attention is drawn to the screaming coming from the kitchen, the window shattered by an unknown source. On the greenish-white floor, however, is a sight he swears he'll never forget.

Someone, sobbing harshly, holds a woman about his age with red hair in his arms. Blood covering the floor, her eyes folded back into her head, its obvious that this woman, Someone's wife seemingly, has been killed. To Gar, the sight is enough to bring a tear even to his eye. The sight of his friend, long-hardened by the tough life of an Irish gangster, crying hysterically for the loss of his wife is enough to bring his mind into a state of shock.

"Someone.."

Through burning eyes, full of tears and brown-colored rage, Someone looks up at his friend with hatred pouring into his soul. "Wh'did t'is, Garf'iel?"

Repeating the name doesn't help as it only leads to the Irishman screaming in rage back, demanding to know who ended the life of his wife.

"I didn't see, Someone. We heard gunfire and when we came up..."

Fighting the tears forthcoming through anger, Someone clutches onto his wife further before leaning his head onto her's. "Wh'ever did t'is... Ah'swear I'll burn th'mall!"

"Someone, help me carry her up to the bar. The medics should be here soon and..."

Setting his wife down instead, Someone stands up now with an insane fire in his own orbs. Reason seems to have given way to insanity, never a good sign in any person.. Fear starts to seriously set in Gar's mind at the sight. Is this how he looked after Kris? Is this what'll finally set him off?

"Docs will'na b'able t'help us now... Woe betide an'one who did t'is t'day.."

---

Outside of the Mad Irishman, Gar notices that Scarecrow seems to have disappeared. Before he left, however, he'd left Gar a little note where to contact him after the heat had died down. Judging from the look in Someone's eyes, however, the thought of heat dying anytime soon might be a fancible illusion. Whoever dared stir the Irishman's rage surely is about to feel the rage of the Irish. Lucky bastard whoever that is...

Police and EMT personnel surround the building, investigations need to be undertaken as well as bodies to clean up. Watchman finds himself staring as Damon is wheeled into an ambulance, alive but definitely seeing better days. Local residents stand behind police markers, watching in shock and sadness at the sight.

"Looks like this really was the heart of this neighborhood... And someone just had to put a bullet into it, didn't they?" Gar whispers to himself, watching as an older woman and her daughter cry as another body is brought out, draped with a white sheet on a stretcher board.

Turning away from the sight, Gar turns his gaze skyward and sees the sky. To his own eyes, it appears just a little more redder than usual. Sarcastically snorting, Gar mutters "I guess that's why Gotham's sky so red, huh? This whole city's bleeding, ain't it?"

A cold wind is all that Gar feels in reply... but not as cold as the feeling that enters his blood stream as a blinding light flashes onto a cloud above the city.

---

A/N2: A LOT to comprehend, huh? Justice League behind the times? Crime's evolving? Gar needs Scarecrow's help to become a killer? The Mad Irishman gets attacked? Someone loses his own sanity? Who did it? Why? What's to gain? Too many questions... Scarecrow is definitely entertaining in this saga of mine... He can be a murdering psychopath, and yet be so damn darkly funny. Yet, at the same time, he's human.. He's not insane like Joker but he's also not a do-gooder like Light became..  
Oh, and yes, I DID spoof the Bat-Embargo!

Trivia:  
- Yes, Bat-Embargo! Read it twice! I'll explain more about that in a later chapter I have in mind. Funny little quirk though, eh?  
- Another reference to Jeffery Combs doing Question and Scarecrow again. (Forgive the race issue here) but I swear that man is the vocal equivalent to Barry White. Not for the inneuendo or anything, but that guy just stands out as a voice, its creepy.

Rhetorical  
Who else can't wait to see Watchmen this Friday? Just make sure NONE of you think of Gar during the movie, ok? Bad enough I'm going to.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Much apologies for the extended wait. Remember how I told everyone that I was out (about three weeks ago) due to an abscess tooth? Well, the other day, due to a lifetime of ignorance, I've been told I'll be needing as many as twenty of my teeth removed... Yeah, imagine the impact that does to a 22yr old. I don't want any sympathy, and I damn well have punished myself for it, so I will speak no more of this.  
It's hard doing an exposition chapter sometimes but, and this is crucial, its leading up to a fight (and revelation) that many of you have been waiting very long to see.... and NO, its NOT Ra's al Ghul, damnit!

**The Watchman III****  
**

---

What is it about life that always seems so fucked up? Never mind the hobo on the corner begging for change, the hooker on the corner asking for a good time, or the cop taking the bribe from the pusher... No, that's normal for a city as grungy and dirty as Gotham City. To the man in the black coat strolling down 42nd Street, the question comes in the form of a hard stare and the thought of the other's night's gunfight. As white and red lights reflect off green lens, they seem to take the forms of white-hot tracers entering black figures, spewing red orbs of blood from their imaginary bodies. Round after round, death coming as fast as the stock figures on the ticker above the street, glowing in blue. Who was responsible? Who ordered the attack? Who has the means to recruit the manpower necessary? As those eyes drift towards a local newspaper boy, the title cover alone speaks volumes.

MAD IRISHMAN MASSACRE CLAIMS THIRTEEN!

Eyebrow twitches a bit but Gar refuses to acquire a paper from the man. Hands firmly in his pockets, fingering a crumpled bit of paper, the words take their toll. Gunfire echoes in his mind although, thankfully, the sight of the murders in progress was out of his sight. Those corpses though.... has it really been that long since Ripper's bloodbath? You'd think after this long it'd be easier, especially considering what Gar wants to... No, save it for later. Green eyes narrowing, the thought of what might happen to the man behind this seems both enjoyable as well as especially evil. Woe betide the deadman who ordered this attack.

Speaking of deadmen, what's with the note Scarecrow delivered? The professor's actions of late have been a bit odd, if not ironic. Considering that Gar has offered nothing but pain to the doctor in the past, he's being surprisingly compliant. Fear of reprisal if he doesn't help? Unlikely, the doctor has better control of his instincts than that. Desire to get back at whoever did this? Unlikely, considering he arrived before the shooting and not after.... Hum..Monster specimen that's willing? Perhaps but that still doesn't explain the request. Why in the world would the doctor send him to this street of all places? Didn't Watchman cause enough trouble the last time he entered this bar?

---

With the word's of "FANTASY MIND" written over the bar, Gar's pleased to find that nothing has changed in this previously-established cesspool of a bar. Passing by the first few tables, occupants in their ragged clothes daring to send glares his way for his "strange" appearance, Gar ignores the view and concentrates his vision to the end of the bar. Moving past women with threads barely justified to be called "clothes" and men, beards and hair dirty and unclean most likely from the stains, it feels like a march into hell rather than a talk for information.

His target, a woman with dark tan, Middle Eastern perhaps, sits at the bar with a glass of clear liquor before her. In profile, all Gar can see is a small, white flower in her black hair, pulled back, and reflecting lightly in the neon glow of a beer light. An odd singularity in the midst of all this filth... Odd person to have connections with a intelligent maniac.

"You must be Watchman." Gar's startled slightly, stopping two paces from the woman. Watching her as she idly plays with a trio of skittles, of all odd things, Gar questions how she knows his identity.

"I know a lot of things about you, Mr. Watchman." Turning to meet him properly, her chocolate brown eyes stand out even amongst a skin flush with smooth features. Deep and mystifying, a gypsy's lure but with a desert's charm, she answers with her gentle voice. "I know what you seek as well. Mr. Crane has not sent you here in vain."

"Poet I take it?" Gar inquires, smiling slightly at the rhyme in her sentence.

"Your humor hasn't changed. Some part of Beast Boy must still exist within you."

Smile thoroughly erased, a figurative flash before replaced with deadpan darkness. "What did you..."

With a small hand raised, she nods reverently "Calmness, Garfield. It is quite alright, I was offering you a compliment is all."

Her words, eerily soothing but at the same time mysterious, find a grip on Gar's mind, bringing him away from his tension. "I'm sorry."

"What is it you wish to know then, Mr. Logan?"

"How you know my name for starters." Gar offers, getting the most obvious question out of the blue.

Smile growing wider, the woman stands up from her stool with a green skittle in her fingertips...

---

Sometime later, the sun still vacant from the sky, moon hanging like a vulture in the sky of blood, Gar finds himself with his jacket flapped upward. Face obscured like in his early days as the Watchmen, he finds peace in this relative shelter from the world. Maybe Scarecrow isn't as crazy as he lets on... or else he's even more fucked up than even Gar imagined. That woman didn't seem... human. A flower in the middle of filth... Wow, now who sounds poetic?

Nothing poetic about the information given however. Nearly impossible to find poetry in the details revealed by the strange woman with the orange and blue skittles joined..

Ironic, especially considering the owner of the joint in front of him and his two-toned skin color.  
_  
"The man of two colors can be found planning. He waits for you without knowing but will offer you information unwilling. "  
"Then why do I need his help to find the man responsible for killing those men?"_

_Another orange skittle in her left hand, this time joined by a green skittle. "Because the man of orange and green walks towards Judgement. To save your friend from the evil demon, you will need the man of two color's help."_

_"... You mean...?"_

---

Within the walls of the Wild Deuce 2, Gar notices that business is thriving just as it had the last time he stormed the joint. Roulette tables, blackjack card games, all illegal and yet unstoppable, combined with the smell of cigar smoke and imported liquors from across the world. Disgusting creatures, all of them. Foolishly wasting their time throwing dice and frittering away money while millions starve and die out on the streets in poverty. Laughing in their thousand dollar suits or fifteen thousand dollar dresses, complete with dead animal corpses lining their shoulders. Its enough to make a man angry, if not downright furious.

"Hey, you can't go back there!" One of the burly guards, a man wearing a charcoal suit and fedora, warns.

His partner, standing opposite the door, reaches for a weapon concealed within his suit jacket. "The boss ain't seein' no guests at the moment! So scram!"

"Guest?" Gar inquires, voice lacking any sense of detectible emotion. "Who said I was a guest?"

Although the man with the pistol seems unfazed, the man in the dark coat's face starts to recoil in fear. That voice, that same voice.... could it really be.

"Seem nervous, scared. Do I frighten you?" Watchman certainly hasn't missed that look of fear on the guard's face. "Never did get blood for the potatoes."

"What's wrong with ya? This guy don't look like..."

"Shut up! Let him in, Jean, or he'll fuckin' rip us a new asshole!" Panic in his voice, the guard reaches out and lowers the other man's gun.

"What? Are you insane? He'll kill us if he lets him through!"

Taking a step closer to both men, Gar finally lets a smile grace his face. Fangs proudly barred, eyes wild, he suggests "And I'll kill you if you don't!"

Both doors thunder open, Watchman stepping through with a tiny, though sly smirk on his face. Hands still in his pockets, eyes forward, he doesn't care to look back at the sight of two scared men watching his trek continue. Doors snapping behind him, shut firmly by the pair, Gar anticipates a brutal reunion..

"About time you showed up!" The thunderous, throaty voice of Two-Face echoes across the back room. Coin flipping in the air, idle at one moment then a flurry of rotation the next. Suit, duo-tone though monochrome, still looks as creaseless and iconic as ever. Unlike some villains and heroes, it seems Two-Face is keeping fashion's tide from overtaking his sense of appearance... If only his face could do the same. Some scars and trends will never change, no matter how much we'd like them to.

"Been busy. Investigating the slaughter at Mad Irishman's. Wouldn't know about that would you?" Stopping a good distance away, not trusting the famous villain to play fair, Gar's glasses keep a wall between the two.

PING, coin flip. "That Irish bastard had it coming. You fuck with a dog too many times, the dog's gonna bite you back."

"Interesting choice of words."

The stare down intensifies, coin landing and flipping absentmindedly. "You're not the only wild dog in this city, Watchman."

"Batman has Joker on his leash. Which dog attacked the bar?"

PING "How about we flip on it?"

"Stalling again. Never were good at questions."

Snarling, Two-Face replies with a face-down coin "Look who's talkin', nutjob! Last time you were here you nearly drove all of us insane."

"Answer the questions. Otherwise I'll finish what I started." Gar pulls out his lighter from his pocket. Though not pristine, the BIC lighter still isn't as scarred up as Dent's coin.

PING "Threatening me, Watchman?"

FLICK "Tell me answers and it won't be."

Heads down. "Gotta earn your information around here, boy. Even with your magic animal powers, you can't make me talk by force."

Flame out. "Woman with candy told me the same thing."

PING but with suspicion on his face, Two-Face inquires "A woman with candy? You mean to tell me you ran into.."

FLICK "I did. Told me to save Someone, need the man of two color's information."

Heads down. "That woman's just a crazy, witchy lunatic. How can someone with candy predict the future, huh?"

Orange light reflecting in green lenses, almost producing a brownish color, Gar answers "Didn't find her on my own. Your kind led me there. Scarecrow recommended her."

PING, with a look of incredible surprise "And you got the nutcase doctor involved too?! What kind of game are you getting at?"

Flame out. "Game? Not a game. Games entertain, they amuse. Games have rules and time limits. Not a game, Harvey Dent."

Heads down yet again "I told you not to.."

FLICK, lighter to his face level now. Staring down the two eyes of Two-Face, Gar warns "Two-Face is a madman but with rules. Too much killing is mass-murder. Too little killing is weakness. Harvey Dent protects the weak from the murders. Heads, Dent tells me. Tails, Two-Face can go to hell."  
Coin firmly on his fist, Two-Face considers this proposal. "Using me against me again? Low blow, Watchman." A snicker "But I admit, you have a point." Holding up the coin, ready to flip, Two-Face warns "No reflips either."

---

Outside of the Wild Deuce 2, Garfield's exit is greeted by the Scarecrow. Meshing into the scenery like an elephant in an office building, Gar can't help but muster a shake of the head.

"I gather he didn't give up the information willingly?" Scarecrow inquires.

Flipping the lighter into the air, catching it as it descends, Gar admits "It seems your friend at the Fantasy Mind was smarter than I gave her credit for."

"You played with his mind, didn't you?"

Flicking the lighter on, Gar jokes "He's not used to another dual-sided personality with a toy to play with."

"Interesting. And they say I'm the evil one for messing with others' minds." Tapping the stick on the ground, Scarecrow looks down the street to scan for police. "As for the location?"

"He wouldn't tell me since it came up tails. But, I did manage to learn something during his little "victory" gloating."

Tilted head, the dead corpse questions "Two-Face gave you information despite losing the toss? That's unlike him."

Cracking a grin, Watchman informs him "He called it a consolation prize for keeping him amused." Grin gone now, he continues. "He says he didn't order the hit, at least this time. Apparently someone else was interested in sending a message to the Irishman."

"A third party we're not yet aware of?"

"Yeah, not even to Two-Face either. The man contacted him via telephone and asked to borrow some of his hitmen to wreck up the joint." Lighter returning to the darkness of his coat pocket, Watchman's expression returns to a similar darkness. "And that's not all. Apparently they've gone "missing" after they finished the raid."

Holding his jaw with his white hand, Scarecrow theorizes "Whoever hired them isn't done yet. Two-Face may have provided you the information as a request for revenge for misleading him. Whoever did this must certainly be a man unafraid of the consequences."

"He also mentioned that I'm not the only wild dog in the city.. This isn't Joker's style, is it?"

Hair shuffling against the brown "skin" of his face, Scarecrow shakes his head in denial. "No, that man's methods usually border on the insane and the flamboyant. This action was done with precision as well as emphasis on psychological terror." Allowing a bemused, ironic "hmph", Scarecrow suggests "If I were into that sort of thing, I would have suggested that I would have done it."

"Who's to say you didn't?" Cooperation or not, the man standing in front of Watchman is still a notorious criminal willing to maim Gotham City for his own experiments.

"Because I would have toyed with prey first rather than killing them. What's the use of having test patients if you're just going to kill them at the beginning of the experiment?"

Removing his glasses, placing them into the opposite pocket, Gar sighs "You have a point, Crane. But where do we begin? Where can they be hiding?"

"An even more pressing matter is where exactly did Someone disappear to?"

"WHAT?" Gar shouts, news to him most definitely.

"Aren't you aware? Someone has been reported missing since the police moved into the Irishman. No one has heard from him since."

"And you didn't think to tell me any of this?" Patience disappearing faster than an Enron pension, Gar's on the verge of choking the doctor.

"He hasn't turned up dead yet. Plus, its no coincidence that the hitmen have disappeared too. And while I'd like to assume that Someone is looking for them, chances are they captured him and have him hidden somewhere."

Fist balled at first, Gar looks ready to snap until something echoes in his mind. A voice, the woman from the bar....

_"When the man of orange and blue refuses, the brown one will provide the clue. To save the man of orange and green, the man of pure green must overcome the man with red in his eyes. "_

"Watchman, are you ok?" Scarecrow's voice implores, noticing Gar's loss of attention.

"Scarecrow... tell me something. If you were going to kill someone, in order to send a message to someone else, where would you do it?"

"Where would I kill someone in front of another person? Somewhere with a lot of noise to keep the sound down. Also I'd do it at a place with a lot of activity to mask my escape."

Looking West, Gar replies with worry in his voice. "How about somewhere where the shooter could escape in a hurry?"

Pausing at first, realization enters the villain's face as well. "Gotham International Airport?"

"One of the hangars. All of those planes landing and taking off... Not to mention many of the mob bosses in the city have private hangars.."

"Not to mention its somewhere where most of Someone's allies wouldn't think to go. They don't have strength down there."

Returning his glasses to his face, Gar warns "Then we'll just have to be the backup, won't we?"  
---

A/N2: So it looks like we're off to the "Aero-port". Will they be there however? Its where I'd be, you don't see many lower-class Irishmen hanging around airports these days. A blind man can see it's an ambush but, with a raging, drunk, grieving man after you, location doesn't matter.  
Interesting dichotemy though of a Coin vs. Lighter with Gar/Two-Face.. The paralels between them just keep adding up. One's white/black, the other's green/black... hehe.

Trivia:  
- The "Woman at the Bar" is a nod to my longest reviewer (and most generous too, considering her fan-arts) FantasyMind93... her other name going on DA as "Skittles713", yeah, you can kinda guess the Skittles references... Even if they are used like runes.  
- Joker as a wild dog on a leash, Dark Knight anyone?

Rhetorical:  
Wouldn't it be funny if the man with the Red Eyes turned out to be a very...._cool_ man indeed?


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry for the wait, been very busy both at home and abroad... Watchmen was the shit, plain and simple. Rorschach won't be as loved as Heath's Joker but still, how you can argue with him? Just indescribable... just like this chapter. The wait definitely was worth it. It was hard to get this chapter rolling but it sets up the rest of the mythos from here on out. Although it might feel rushed, imagine the circumstances it occurs under. Details to be revealed, of course, so don't bitch if you didn't get "everything you wanted to know", you'll get what you "need to know" as the arc continues!

**The Watchman III****  
**

---

_You know, sometimes I often wondered... Just how bad could life really get? Every time I see something horrible, something comes along that just makes that tragedy seem like a really, really bad comedy. They say whatever doesn't kill you only makes you stronger, right? After that day, you might as well give the devil his due. I became stronger all right... but for everything gained, something has to be lost. And for me, I lost the one thing I still had a fragile hold on in this world... _

---

Gotham City International, perhaps one of the most busiest sections in the entire Gotham region. Planes by the dozens lift off into the air or land hard against paved asphalt with the regularity of a human heartbeat. In and out, nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary. Not even the "private" hangars across the tarmacs seem out of place. Even as little trucks and mechanic vehicles pass by, towing engine parts or luggage to their destinations, not a single sight seems out of the ordinary. But to the untrained eye, this place has more ominous sights to behold than jet planes flying off towards a blood-red moon.

As Gar and Scarecrow arrive to the gates leading to the private hangar area, the all-too familiar sight of a struggle enters their view. Guard post empty, wooden road-block burst through with splinters remaining for evidence. Though illuminated by yellow lights above, not a single human shadow can be seen outside of the two men's own.

"Something's wrong." Gar admits at the sight, hands in his pockets but eyes anything but idle.

"I suppose it doesn't take a professor to come to that conclusion." Scarecrow sarcastically answers, rolling his "eyes" at the announcement.

"Its not the obvious, Crane. Someone came through here in a hurry. But how come no one's raising a fuss about it?" Eyebrow raised, Gar motions to the lack of security personnel around the area. Surely someone would've noticed by now.

"You mean the lack of alarm at a possible break-in? Got your drift, was just toying with you."

Casting a glance at Scarecrow, Gar asks "Guess it's too much to ask if you're getting a bad feeling about this too?"

A quick chuckle through the mask "Is that fear I detect in your voice, Watchman?"

"Fear can help keep you alive, Scarecrow." The point is further emphasized when Gar admits "But it can also lead you into trouble."

"I wouldn't know." The retort, though sarcastic, has the intended effect of bringing a brief grin to Gar's face.

---

Walking across the tarmac, towards the long line of hangars, Gar's suspicious inclinations only increase as their approach is continually ignored. Surely the sight of two VERY out of place, unauthorized persons walking through private property, would be considered illegal at best. And yet, on this brisk Gotham night, not a single alarm or guard seem to be watching or warning of their approach.

"I don't like this."

"Your fear might actually be justified this time." Scarecrow replies, noticing Watchman's eyes darting across the range of his visual sight. "Surely by now someone would have reported our intrusion."

Neverminding the sound of powerful jet aircraft no less than a mile away, or the seemingly ceaseless humming of vehicles, the air does seem to contain a very eerie silence. Announcements in the distance seem calm, preplanned. Speaker chatter on the P.A. systems seem to indicate no sign of disturbance. Either there's been a gross malfunction of security systems or...

"Scarecrow? What are the odds that whoever's up ahead in that hangar's actually _daring_ us to come?"

"What do you mean?"

FLICK, lighter flips on, its flame dancing in the wind. "One of the largest airports in the country, thousands of cameras and guards throughout the facility. One guard post is ruined, no one at their station, two very suspicious men walking freely on the terminal... Not ONE alarm."

"Perhaps. But that would imply the control tower is either suppressing our arrival..."

Lighter burns out, returning to a cold steel. "Or whoever ordered the hit on the Irishman is actually letting us cross the threshold."

"That implies someone of intelligence, Garfield. Still think I'm not the mastermind?"

Looking towards one of the hangars, Gar notices that its the only one with an open door with a light exiting. In the middle of an extremely lit complex, this light might not mean much. However, this late in the evening, one light in the middle of dozens of darkened hangars, that light might as well be a lighthouse on a midnight coast.

"No. Because this isn't scaring me, its just pissing me the fuck off."

Reaching the door, Scarecrow stops Gar for a moment before entering.

"Watchman, there's something I should warn you about." The voice is unsure, almost sympathetic in its tone but wary in its wording. "Before you enter, realize that Someone has made a LOT of enemies in this city."

"I figured that much." Glasses keeping the half-glare to a minimum, Gar's face reflects a measure of agitation.

"Beyond that door you could run into anyone.. from a guy with a gun to the Joker himself." Scarecrow continues. "If you're lucky, you won't need this." From his coat, he removes a small apparatus. Similar to the device used for the antidote to his anti-fear gas, its size betrays it's importance.

"I take it this is some form of your fear gas?" Gar inquires, frowning as Scarecrow extends the piece of plastic towards his own hand.

"A variation I've been saving for a rainy day. In case you haven't noticed, Gotham's sky is red for a reason. That's because in this city, it doesn't always rain water. Some nights it rains blood."

Taking the device, Gar counters "Always did wonder why the sky was red here. If we're lucky though, there won't be any blood tonight. I think this city's shed enough."

Turning towards the door, Watchman strides off to what might as well be considered the abyss, the great unknown. Beyond the well-lit entrance is a dark unknown that not even Scarecrow's macabre could describe.

Hence the bigger surprise that the Master of Fear doesn't follow Watchman into said light...

---

Door snapping shut behind him, Gar turns instinctively and barely catches the last glance of Scarecrow. White hand pulling the handle closed, sad grimace on the mask's face.

"That son of a bitch! I should've known he.."

That statement is silenced as Gar finally sees the interior of the hangar. The "light" was nothing more than a floodlight aimed at the then-opened doorway, enough to bring Gar's attention to this facility. Through his gaze he notices a trail of what appears to be red liquid on the floor, leading towards the darkened center of the building. Cautious, painstakingly wary, Gar steps into said darkness, past the illusion of light, towards the ominous unknown.

Bullet casings on the floor, scattered about in random patterns. A firefight? Most likely. Spend shells in this large quantity... automatic weaponry. Small casings, probably automatic pistol fire.

_"I thought Someone preferred shotguns instead of pistols? Then again, he WAS acting.."_

Dead body, black coat with dry blood pooled around it. Hangar glass above lets the moonlight shine on the body, gruesome details unfolding like a bad movie. Stains of old blood forming veins on the concrete and spreading in all directions, like rivers on a map... Cold face, eyes staring at the ceiling as though staring at the Reaper himself. Shot to the head, poor bastard didn't live long enough to feel the cold concrete. Deserving or not, Gar can still feel sympathy for the dead. To be shot is one thing, to be shot through the skull is another.

Rustling in the dark not brightened by the moon. A moan of pain, there's someone still alive?

Speak of the devil himself. Through the darkness, a body staggers forward with a pistol in hand. Clutching his side, head bent down, the voice strains as much as his body in its approach.

"Watchie?"

"Someone!" Gar shouts, moving towards the wounded Irishman. He's stopped, however, as Someone warns him not to advance.

"Garfiel, no!" Raising his head, pain etched in his brown eyes, teeth stained with his own blood, the man pleads "Git a'way... now... "

"What are you talking about? Who did this?"

"T'at bas'tard... Sain' Patrick, t'is t'ing cann'a b'real!" Taking another two steps, body lurching with each motion. Someone's eyes, glassy still, seems to swim in a sea of surrealness. Voice cracking, this could very well be the end.

"Someone, please! Tell me who did this! I can help you!" Gar's not one for pleading but at this very moment, the sight of his friend about to..

"Watchie..." Someone's face, gritting teeth at first, turns strangely serene and peaceful as he speaks softly. "Tell m'mackie I'm'a miss 'im. None a'us gonna live t'rough t'is... so he say. But ya... Do w'at y'must do!"

Blindingly, the lights above the center burst to action, filling the room with a painfully bright, white light. On the catwalk above the middle of the building, nearly ten men, armed with Tommies, click their guns into readiness and aim.

"NO!"

Smiling still, Someone closes his eyes as the bullets burst from their iron barrels. Round after deadly round blasts out from their cartridges, tearing into the Irishman's back, ejecting blood and fluids everywhere, including Gar's coat and face. Each shot forces his body to jerk and contort uncontrolled, frighteningly similar to a seizure or electrocution. This, however, might be immeasurably worse than either way to die.

After a painful eternity, in Gar's eyes, does the fire give way. Ammunition spent, the deed done, Someone finally falls to his knees, already long since dead.

Ignoring the shooters, believing they wouldn't shoot him yet if they didn't shoot him now, Gar rushes forward and brings Someone into an embrace. Voice shaking, he offers what appears to be a silent prayer for the fallen comrade.

"Why do you mourn for a criminal, Watchman?"

That voice... cold, hard, chilling in its delivery, without a single hint of warmth in its tone. An honest question, surely, but with the lack of an empathy expected in something robotic at best.

As the gunners depart, a towering figure starts to emerge from the darkness. Snapping his head up towards the walkway, Someone still in his grasp, Gar's glasses do little to hide the boiling rage in those emerald flames. Fangs barred prominently, vampiric in its nature as its owner's blood begins to speed up in his heart.

"I doubt you would ever shed a tear for me..." And finally, after all of this torment, the shadow gives way to the monster himself. Teeth grinding hard though part of his face appears pale, falsely-colored purple hair covering what could be described as a twisted visage of evil. Top hat tall, flowing cape shining pristinely in the radiance above.. but nothing compared to the dreadfully demonic, humorous gaze in the red eyes of the Ripper himself. "Would you, Garfield Logan?"

Rage giving way to horror, to sheer terror... How could he be here? How could Ripper do this? Why..... Why does this monster continue to..

With a thunderous laugh, Ripper's voice booms across the building "You should see your face, Watchman! I must say I haven't seen you look so alive in years! Tell me, did you REALLY think that I would've forgotten our little rivalry?"

"Its not possible..."

"Possible?!" Cane twirling in his hand, smacking hard on the ground so he can lean on the black stick, Ripper taunts. "Its not only possible, Watchman, its damn well inevitable! You couldn't kill me three years ago, could you? You may have stopped me but you can _NEVER_ kill me!"

Feeling the body in his arms, Gar can feel the shock of the situation fading, giving way to the second in the chain of human emotion: Anger. But no, this anger isn't your everyday anger. With the blood of the Irish staining his own body, the smell of copper mixing with the truth of this reality. Someone wasn't a victim of a gangland retaliation, he wasn't a victim of revenge... He was used the same way that fake face of Raven on Ripper's face is for: To torture his soul just a little bit further until...

Inside his coat, the device Scarecrow had given him suddenly snaps to life, filling the air around him in a yellow haze. Coughing, Gar's unsure what's going on as he feels the chemicals enter his bloodstream..Eyes closing, head bowing, he can feel his essence vanishing to a different realm, not of humanity, but of the inner soul.

_"What the hell is that?!"_ The sound of Ripper's cackling voice seems so distant as Gar's mind takes him to a darker part of his own brain. In the distance, he can see what was once Beast Boy and what could be considered the Beast.... But, if the Beast merged with Garfield in Africa, what is it he looks at now?  
_"Do w'at y'must do!"_ The echo of Someone's voice comes not from the darkness but from the Beast. At the sound, however, the Beast lurches forward, eyes burning, as it becomes absorbed into Gar's being.

Back in the hangar, Gar's eyes remain closed as the gas fades. Still clutching Someone's body, the look of grief on Gar's face turns to a smile, fang jutting from the upper lip.

"What did you do, boy? What sort of trickery is this?" Ripper demands, eyes losing their mirth.

"Trickery? You make it sound like I _planned_ this..." Gar responds, sadness vanished into a form of irony. Not a pleasant irony either.

Snapping his fingers, Ripper orders the gunmen to the floor to surround Gar. If the dreadful little shit won't tell him willingly. Rushing to surround him, they raise their weapons at his body, forming a circle of ten men, each looking firm in their resolve to end this man's life on a moment's notice.

"I must admit..." Gar begins, not looking towards Ripper yet, but voice still filled with irony and mirth. "I didn't understand why the airport wasn't alerted to my presence." Standing up, Gar keeps his eyes closed but his smile widening. "I didn't understand why you would lure Someone and myself to this place. I didn't understand why Scarecrow would help you lead me here."

"Your babbling is becoming annoying, Watchman!" Ripper warns, aiming his cane at Gar's chest. "This is bigger than everything you imagined. This is only the BEGINNING of the end!"

With a bemused "hmm", Gar asks "And what end would that be?"

Face shifting from Raven back to the deformed corpse he previously acquired, Ripper answers simply "The end of the world you tried to maintain. What do you suppose Desade and his cronies are doing in Jump City as we speak? Even if I were to let you live, do you think you would make it back in time to save your little friends? The Titans, Slade's pathetic, tiny group, a broken Watchmen, a powerless Justice League.. NONE of you will stop what I have in store! Three years, Watchman, THREE YEARS I've been waiting! And now that you're all alone, without your worthless "team" to save you, I'm going to finally finish what I started over a decade ago!"

Eyes finally snapping open, its green fury matching a manic smile that would make even the Joker proud, Gar shouts back, "Well then, I'LL JUST HAVE TO KILL EVERY, SINGLE ONE OF YOU!"

Ripper finds himself suddenly recoiling at the sight. Hair long, waving with an ethereal energy, eyes glowing like a radioactive isotope of unknown origin.. This boy... this isn't the same...  
"NO! This can't be! I won't let you do this!!" Ripper screams, firing a blade from his cane at Gar's head.

As the cane reaches Gar's face, however, Watchman's body explodes into a black mass of buzzing, swarming flies and bees. Filling the room like the plague, the gunmen and even Ripper find themselves watching in terrified awe as the insects suddenly move back to the floor, reforming into Gar's body next to the blade embedded in concrete.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Ripper..." Gar answers, voice very deep and primal. Thin slits of green light as Gar's vision narrows, looking at the gunmen staring in terror beside him. "But it looks as though you won't be the first person I kill."

One goon takes a step back, panic almost carved into his face like a statue of old. This fear, however, is anything but classic. Its far more primal than any antiquity. Fear of monsters, fear of the unknown.

As Ripper stares on in shock, Gar leaps over to the man, snapping his jaws around the man's throat..With a great howl of rage in his throat, Gar literally throws the man's body into the air, arching his body to toss him at Ripper's direction. Although not removing the man's skull, the action tears open his throat enough for a stream of blood to pour onto the men below the flying corpse.  
"No... he can't.." Ripper mouths, unbelieving at the sight before him. This wasn't supposed to happen, not like this... Not this soon...

"I was just going to drag your broken body to the police..." Gar informs the room's occupants, laughing hysterically under those words. Eyes widening to excited, tiny pupils, Gar booms across the hollow room "BUT NOW I'LL JUST DELIVER YOU ALL IN PIECES!"

---

From Scarecrow's position outside, he can hear machine gun fire, men's screams, and the sound of what could only be described as pure hatred. Almost as though a lion, dragon, and tyrannosaur were unleashed at the same time... His jaw lowers at the sight as bullets break glass above the building, allowing the terrific screams and heart-chilling roars to become louder and more pronounced. Flashes from the muzzles begins to fade as Gar must be slaughtering them, killing each one pawn at a time until on the dark King remains.

Hand shaking on the wooden stick in his hand, a flood of dread fills his heart. Perhaps the feeling can be summed up in an ageless, yet ultimately true expression used often throughout history.

"What have I done?"

That question, and all that it implies, is shattered by the sound of police sirens approaching the hangar. Turning, Scarecrow's reverie is broken, bringing his senses up to speed enough to realize that retreat is better than defeat. Not to mention that the sheer size of the convoy suggests that Batman himself might not be too far behind...

---

Inside the hangar, after moments of brutal, intense violence, Gar finds himself standing in the middle of a massive pool of blood and broken bodies. Looking up at Ripper, blood covering his body from head to toe, his eyes remain wild and insane though his body heaves for oxygen. Black and purple coat now stained with the blood of his victims, Gar asks in a very dark, menacing tone.

"What will you do, Brain? Have you included this possibility into your plans, huh?! Are you not satisfied with what you have seen? TELL ME!! YOU BROUGHT THIS MONSTER OUT OF ME, YOU CREATED THIS BEAST STANDING IN FRONT OF THOSE EYES OF YOUR'S! TELL ME, ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!"

Ripper's answer is cut off by the sound of police sirens and a megaphone outside.

_"This is the Gotham City Police Department. Watchman, we know you're in there! Release your hostages unharmed and come out with your hands up! Its all over, don't make this harder on yourself!"_

The voice of Commissioner Gordon, Batman's closest ally on the Police, does little to sooth Gar's rage. It only seems to intensify as Ripper stares down with a grin on his own demented face.

"What will you do now? Will you kill them like a monster you claim to be? Will you surrender peacefully as Garfield Logan would?... Or will the Watchman finally do what only Scarecrow's drugs could make you do?"

Even now Ripper seems to enjoy taunting Watchman. The tables turned, the police warning of the impending raid. Framed, set up, no place left to go, no choice left. No compromise?  
"You plan on taking down the entire system, don't you?"

Nodding with a smile of his own, Ripper answers "The League, these "villains", all will see the truth. They made us the way we are, just as they helped me make you the way YOU are."

Though his eyes still burn with flames, a knowing smile enters his face. Watchman's reply comes hauntingly cold "When will you move on Jump City?"

_"You have twenty seconds, Watchman!"_

"With you behind bars, I can move whenever I want. But I imagine the League or the Government won't let someone like you rot in prison for very long." Ripper concludes.

_"Ten seconds!"_

"I look forward to it. Next time we meet, I'll kill you. And when it comes time for that, it won't be because of Scarecrow's drugs."

"Until the next time then, Watchman!"

As the doors burst open with police activity, Ripper fades into the darkness above, vanishing from sight. Watchman turns to meet the police officers, his eyes fading back into normal, human-looking orbs. As they close in, his manic face returns to his normal appearance, although a new emotion floods his heart. Grief... with his body covered in blood, the police forcing him to the ground, realization sets in. Through screaming, not in resistance, but of remorse, a single voice echoes across the void in his own voice.

_"What have I done?"  
_

_---_

A/N2: I_t _finally happened, Gar finally kills somebody. Granted it was under the effects of Scarecrow's gas but none the less, he now is blood-stained... and NO ONE guessed it would be because of Ripper's actions! I make one _cool_ joke and everyone says "Mr. Freeze"... well Ripper has a bluish complexion as well as red eyes... Hehehe, I can't wait to see the reviews on that revelation.  
Can't help but wonder though if Scarecrow helped, was forced to help, or did it as revenge against Ripper? Hmm..

Trivia:  
- Garfield seems to be channeling Alucard here a bit. Considering that both have an animalistic approach to killing people, as well as a psychotic view of killing, it would only make sense in a small way. Call it a "Hellsing" spoof if you want but name ONE anime or cartoon that isn't, in one way, a spoof (or borrowed elements) from something else?

Rhetorical:  
And you thought things were bad now? With Gar in police hands, there's only one building in Gotham can hold someone so criminally insane..


	7. Author's Last Note

As you can probably tell, I haven't written for over a week.

Truthfully, Erick has burned out. Although the story hasn't truly run it's course, I honestly don't have the desire to complete it. The amount of emotional imput for this series, frankly, is very draining and (at times) scary, given the depressing nature of the works. Not only this but I feel that I have actually strayed far away from my original intention for "Watchman". Things have become more and more generalized. Rather than an biopic on a character gone tragically wrong, it feels as though its become yet another "Superhero" story where the main character will never die nor will he ever evolve. Feels like a cheap Dragonball Z arc.

After watching the Watchmen movie, re-reading the book, as well as took a look at the series in general, I get the impression that this work isn't over... it was only the first, initial draft. I'm including "Green Rabbit" and "Never Fear" in that list of First Draft because, truthfully, you can see the evolution of writing from the beginning to this point.

But, its not a bad thing. I think I can reboot this series. Learn from the mistakes of the first draft, improve to make an awesome new take on this saga I have going.  
I'm sure some of you might be upset that this is over, and I'm willing to take your criticisms and complaints (and if any would like to know how I planned on ending this, feel free to ask.)

Until the reboot, thank you for your support, however unwarranted or (at times) un-reviewed.

- Erick von Long


End file.
